


Not This One

by TiyeTiye



Series: Things That Go Bump In The Night [3]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Invasion of Ireland, Ireland, Irish Folklore, Supernatural Elements, Supernatural guardian, Supernatural protector, Vikings, banshee - Freeform, protector - Freeform, viking raid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-29 12:18:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12630927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TiyeTiye/pseuds/TiyeTiye
Summary: The progress of a Viking raid on a prosperous Irish farmhouse is interrupted by an unexpected protector.





	Not This One

She could hear the sounds of the search from her hiding spot in the kitchen. They were getting closer - the pounding of her heart nearly drowned out the sounds of their shouts and laughter as they destroyed her home, she was certain they would hear it and and then all would be lost. She tried to hold her breath, terrified that her sobbing gasps would give her away, clenched her hands together to stop their shaking, but it was no use. She scooted farther back into her hiding spot, praying to anyone who would listen, asking them to help hide her, to make her invisible, to make them _go away._

Everyone was dead.… They were all dead…. They’d killed everyone….Mother, Father, Oisin, Niall, Lorcan, everyone. Cut down like trees, slaughtered like pigs, shot in the back when they tried to run. Her brothers had died first, murdered one by one where they had been working in the yard. They’d tried to raise the alarm - she’d heard Lorcan shouting, but the shout had cut off in a pained, agonized scream, and his alarm had come too late. 

Father had tried to defend them, her and mother, standing in the doorway with the wood axe while they came at him with their spears and swords. Mother had run to him as he’d fallen, and they’d murdered her next. She caught just the barest glimpse of steel and fair hair coming around the doorway before she’d remembered her feet and run. 

Now she was hiding underneath the great cook table they kept pushed against the wall, behind the bags and barrels and boxes, hardly daring to breathe as the steps got closer and closer. She saw a pair of feet enter the room, their leather boots splashed with red, and next to it hung the point of a sword that left scarlet drops on the floor as its owner surveyed the room. She felt a stab of hope that he might think the room empty, but it was crushed when the Northman crossed over to her table, picked something up, and she heard the crunch of an apple. Leaning his bloody sword beside him, the table creaked as the Northman leaned his weight against it, crunching away at his apple while she waited and prayed and hoped from just a few feet away. She could have reached out and touched him if she wanted. 

_Go away Go away Go away Go away Go away Go away…._

A shout from the hallway startled the Northman out of his daydream, and he took his sword back in hand as his companion appeared in the doorway. A jolt went down her spine at the sight of him - and that was the problem - she could see all of him as he came through the doorway. Instead of walking like his companion, this one crawled, dragging himself along the wooden floor using a pair of iron spikes, pulling his legs behind him as if they were broken. The crawling man barked out a question, and the first Northman answered, gesturing around the kitchen with the tip of his bloody sword. The crawling man didn’t seem satisfied with the answer, he shifted his hips until he was seated on the floor and scowled up at his companion as though he were purposefully hiding a secret from him. The two of them argued for a moment while she watched, peering at them over the top of a cask of flour, the crawling man angrily gesturing around the room and at the doorway behind him. Eventually, it seemed that the crawling man grew tired of the argument, because he picked up his iron spikes and shifted himself around to leave. 

It was when he leaned forward to drive the first spike into the floor that he saw her. 

—————————————————————————————————————————

“You expect me to believe that you’ve fully searched this entire room in _three minutes?!_ ”

“Ivar, I’ve told you and I’ve told you, _she’s not in here._ ”

“How would you know? You haven’t even looked!”

“Yes I have!” 

“But you said she ran this way down the corridor, so she has to be in here!” 

“And yet she is not!”

“ _Then where did she go?!_ ”

“ _Somewhere else!_ ” 

“Fine Hvitserk, fine. I’ll go find the girl myself then. _Somewhere else._ ” 

Ivar huffed and grabbed his spiked, turning himself to crawl back out the door. Driving his left hand into the wood, as he turned his headto pull himself forward he caught sight of round, frightened eyes peering out at him from underneath the great cook table. 

_Got you…_

The girl screamed as their eyes locked, and Ivar surged forward, pulling sacks and boxes out of his way as the girl continued to shriek. He eventually cleared enough space to snatch the girl’s flailing ankle, gritting his teeth as she kicked at his shoulders while he pulled her out into the middle of the room. 

Hvitserk seemed to be holding back a laugh while Ivar struggled with the girl. 

“Not in here huh?” Ivar sneered, then cried out as the girl’s fingernails scratched deep into his neck.

Hvitserk just laughed harder. “What’s the matter Ivar - is the little Irish girl giving you too much trouble?”

Ivar snarled at his brother, and the girl took advantage of his distraction to turn her head and sink her teeth into the flesh of his palm, breaking the skin and drawing blood. He grabbed her by the hair and smashed her skull into the floor, and as she lay there in a daze he roared and grabbed one of his spikes, intending to bring it down through her wide, terrified eye, but as the girl screamed something else screamed with her.

It was a high, piercing keening - the screaming of a winter storm, the shattering breakup of river ice, and the wail of a terrified mother become one, and as Ivar brought his spike down to end the girl’s life something stopped his arm. 

Ivar looked over in confusion, but there was nothing was there. His hand hung frozen, trapped in the air, bound by invisible chains, and though he tried with all of his strength he couldn’t move. The girl was still beneath him, her arms flung up in a feeble attempt to hold him off, her mouth open in a silent scream. Hvitserk stood above him, still grinning, but it seemed that his brother had been likewise bound. Ivar could even see specks of dust hanging frozen in the light through the kitchen windows. 

‘“ _Not this one._ ” A raspy voice whispered in his ear. 

Ivar jumped at the sound, and when he turned towards the source he saw a woman was now holding his arm. She was tall and thin, almost skeletally so, but her long, thin almost delicate looking fingers still would not let him move. She had long, bright red hair, as brilliant as burning coals, but her flesh was grey and pallid, her lips black and cracked, and she smiled at him with teeth sharp as needles. 

_“I said, not this one, little boy.”_

“Who are you? Let go of me!” Ivar tried to jerk his arm free again, and screamed as what felt like lines of fire shot through him, burning through his veins and scorching down his spine.

_“You already made me scream for the others - for her father, and mother, and brothers. You will not make me keen for her too.”_

“Let me go, you witch!” Again Ivar tried to free himself from her grip, and again the woman burned him. Muscles spasming in pain, Ivar bit his lip to hold back his screams and tasted blood on his tongue. 

Once it ended, the woman knelt down next to Ivar, bringing her face close to his. Ivar recoiled at the sight of her eyes - they were twin pools of black, large enough that he could see his reflection in them, but the woman held him tight and he could not look away. 

_“This girl is one of mine. The last of mine. You are not to harm her. Do you understand?”_

Ivar noticed that the woman’s cheeks were wet, as though she had been weeping. 

_“Take her, use her, make her a slave, do what you will with her - it matters not to me. All that matters is that she lives, and her children live on after her. Do you understand?”_

Ivar clenched his jaw, stubbornly refusing to answer. The woman cocked her head, studying him the way a cat watches a mouse, and burned him again. It went on for far longer this time, and this time Ivar could not hold back his screams. Finally, he gave in. 

“Alright! Alright! I understand!” he choked out around the blood filing his mouth. 

The woman smiled, her too-many teeth glinting in the afternoon light. Leaning over him, she trailed the tip of a finger down his cheek and Ivar shivered at her cold touch. 

_“Good. See that she survives, little boy. Because I will be watching.”_


End file.
